In the great hall of the Frost Walker's fortress, tension hung thickly in the chill air. A night ago they had feasted on delicacies and listened to ancient tales of heroism, sacrifice, and war. The mood hadn't always been joyful, but Frost Walkers survived in the bitterest, coldest, most barren places in the world. They didn't expect every celebration to be filled with nothing but joy. As long as stories ended in triumph and feasts ended with full bellies, Lord Ritchel's people would be content and even happy at the end of the night.
Now, one night later, the festive decorations had been removed along with the long banquet tables. A half circle of high backed chairs flanked by small tables had been arranged facing the elevated dias and Lord Ritchel alone occupied his icy throne as he stared at the men and women he had summoned here after speaking with Nyrielle before the sun set.
